by Scott Moore
Embre walked them past the back lines of the mercenary camp. This far out no one was really paying too much attention to their surroundings. Malik wondered if these souls had given up hope of ever getting into the city.
Embre waltzed right through them. She made it about midway into the settlement before the first person even spoke to her.
“Where are you going with those three?” a woman asked.
Embre twirled her head but did not stop. She looked the woman up and down and then continued.
“Did you not hear me, girl?” the woman asked.
Embre did stop this time; her hand went back to the sword and grasped the hilt. Malik knew that Embre had no idea how to use a sword. The mercenaries were not privy to the information, however. The approaching woman paused, afraid to find out just how much the girl could do with the sword. Malik tensed, ready for a fight. The woman laughed.
“You’re right, it is none of my business,” she said, backing away without another word. Malik wanted to give encouragement to Embre. She had done great with the woman, but he had to keep his words of praise to himself. They would only serve to undermine her here. Maybe later, if they survived this all, then he would tell her how brave she had been.
For now, Malik allowed Embre to prod him forward with a stiff elbow to the upper back. Malik thought Embre was really getting into her character. For his body’s sake, he hoped she did not start to truly believe their made-up story.
Away from the outer skirts of the mercenary camp, the tents were spread further apart. Not far enough that Malik envied their space, but far enough that a man could stretch out long ways before running into his neighbor. Only a few bothered to take advantage of the space. Some posted up flags from their countries, lords, or their mercenary company. Others had built small cook fires. Some had even gone as far as making washing lines right outside their tent flaps. Malik wondered how many of them had seen a bath in the last few months. From the smell, he guessed it had been a very long time for many of them. The smell was coupled with the latrines that were built throughout the camp. Malik would be glad to get away from it all.
Embre danced them around to a beaten path. There had been no road here before, but thousands of boots had beaten away the grass, weeds, and top layer of earth. Now it was nothing more than a beaten dirt path. Hundreds of eyes watched them as they passed. No one ventured forward from their tasks. Most of these people would not have been to the villages or cities to see the wanted posters. Maybe Malik and the others had been more afraid than they needed to be.
Maybe they could have just waltzed right up to the gates without this show. Malik must have stood too tall in that moment, because a voice did halt them.
“Stop where you are,” the gruff voice said.
Embre hesitated and almost stumbled over. Malik willed her to stay on her feet and luckily, she regained her balance.
“I hear you have just moseyed right into our little home away from home,” the voice said.
Malik was not able to turn. He did not want the man to think Embre was losing control of the situation. Embre had not turned either. Her face was blank, but her hands were shaking slightly. Malik wanted to reach out and calm her, but he may as well kill her himself if he did.
“I reckon you aren’t mute. My lady friend says you are quick to the sword,” Embre did turn now.
This allowed Malik to turn toward the man too. He saw the tight leather of a soldier, but it was old and worn. If this man had been a soldier in Luberg, then he was a poor solider. On his back, he carried a short sword that looked dull, but would probably still easily kill a man. His hair was greasy, his beard unkempt, and his eyes were beady. Most of all, Malik noticed his missing teeth. The smile made him look in his early sixties, but Malik guessed by the man’s body that he was closer to forty.
Embre did not say anything. She let her eyes look up and down the man. Then her lips curled into a sneer. Malik was happy to see she was gaining back some of her confidence.
“Do you fancy yourself a fighter?” the man asked.
Embre still did not answer. Malik wondered at what game she was trying to play with this man.
“Aren’t we all friends here? Can’t you just tell us what it is you’re doing with these three? They are quite famous you know?” he said.
Embre gave a side glance toward her captives. She let the rope dangle down by her hip. She was showing that the captives were well in her control. Egg crawled over her shoulder and perched on her thigh.
The man did not look as brave as he once had. He turned looking behind him at someone. Malik instantly noticed her as the woman from earlier. She had run and gathered what friends she had. Malik expected trouble, but they still had a wild card in Egg and a long shot with the letter from Sweet Tongue.
“What is that,” the man pointed with his chin.
Embre did not look down. Malik could tell she had been uncomfortable to have Egg crawling all over her, but her mask was on and she was trying not to let it slip.
“I am getting real tired of your ego.” The man stepped forward.
Malik figured he had gotten over the fear of Egg rather quickly. Malik looked around, wondering how many of the gathering mercenaries would jump in to help the man. He at least knew the woman would be with him in this.
Embre used just her index finger to point Egg to the ground. Egg slipped down her arm and landed on his feet. His arms hung down, dragging his large claws in the dirt. Malik had once thought him funny looking, but with his fangs bared and the prospect of those claws, he no longer felt that egg was a comical creature.
The man must have felt the same, because he backed two steps away.
“I just want to know what business you have here,” he stammered.
The plan was working. Egg was doing his part in this and Embre was doing play writers justice. Malik almost believed that they may just well get through this.
“It is just a little thing,” the woman said, stepping forward.
The woman’s long brown hair was matted and stiff behind her ears. Her face was covered in brown streaks of mud. If she had been a soldier prior to this, then she had lost her leathers somewhere else. Now all she wore was a brown shirt and pants. Malik thought she looked more like a rotten sack of potatoes than a person.
“You’re right,” the man said, trying to sound brave.
None of the other mercenaries were talking or moving toward Embre and Egg. Malik wondered how many of them were just there for the show.
“Well, attack them then. We know what those prisoners will do for us,” she said.
The man drew up his shoulders. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. He stepped forward again.
The plan was right back into question. Egg jumped up off his feet, Malik felt the rope tighten around his arms as Mollie twisted. Egg landed on the man’s chest; teeth bared. The man screamed like a small child and reached up to throw Egg from his body. Egg latched on and dug his claws into the man’s shoulders. The man screamed out louder this time. Egg used his head to ram into the man’s chin. The man stumbled back into the woman’s arms. She stumbled from his weight and Egg head butted the man a second time. This time the man did lose his balance. The woman was not strong enough to hold him up without warning. Both mercenaries fell, and Egg jumped off, his claws now covered in skin and blood. The man rolled on the ground in fear, panic, and pain. The woman scooted to her bottom but could not take her eyes from Egg.
Embre extended her hand and snapped her fingers. Egg ran back and climbed back to her hip. Embre looked out at the rest of the mercenaries gathered around her, but she did not find anyone else jumping at the bit to attack her. Embre turned and tugged the rope, leading the three of them away from the scene of the chaos.
Malik felt Embre loosen after about fifty steps. He heard her take a deep breath and slowly let it out. No one else stepped in front of them, but it would only be a matter of time before someone else did confront them. Would she be able to pull that off
twice?
The camp started to spread out near the middle even more. Now there were large tents that were not for sleeping. Hundreds of men and women were selling goods. Malik saw weapons, armor, boots, gloves, chain mail, food, and even ale. There would be no camp without drink.
Embre stopped in front of a small merchant table and fingered a small white necklace. Malik wanted to tell her to keep focused, but he was a captive and that would have overstepped his bounds.
“Do you fancy that necklace?” the elderly man asked.
Embre looked up, pulling her hand back to her chest.
“I can give you a good price on it,” his hand reached out, grabbing the strand of beads.
It dangled long, about three foot of rope. In the man’s hand was a small silver piece of metal that was carved to look like an arrow.
Embre’s eyes were glued onto it. Malik was at a loss as to why the necklace would have caught her attention. It was not beautiful, it was not shiny, and Malik doubted it would catch a hefty price; although with the way Embre’s eyes were eating it up, Malik supposed the old man would try to stretch its worth.
“Where did you get the necklace?” Embre asked.
Her voice was shaking. Malik looked to the old man again. He was smiling thinking he had hooked a fish.
“Special prize from a camp we came across some days ago. The whole camp was burned to ash, but there were still several nice pieces that could be found. This is just one of many of them,” he said.
Embre swallowed, her throat constricting and then extending dramatically.
“How much?” she asked, her voice strained now.
The old man flipped the chain and looked at it. He twirled it and then held it up in front of his eyes. This was all a show. The man knew what he was going to ask for the piece far before he asked.
“I will take no less than five hundred coin,” he said.
Malik tried not to gasp for Embre. Embre looked down and away. There was no way she had that kind of money. Even with the help of the old man, they did not have that kind of money. Malik wondered at the exuberant request.
“Surely a woman such as you can come up with this amount for such a rare find?” he said. He was eyeing Malik and the others now. He had bought the story that Embre was a great bounty hunter. He had bought it so well that he thought he would be able to fleece her for his own riches.
Embre turned to walk away. Malik could see how hard it was for her. He looked at the necklace again and tried to determine why it was so important to her.
“Fine, I will do four hundred, just this one time,” he said.
Embre stopped and weighed the options. She clearly wanted the necklace.
The elderly man let the smile return, thinking he had redrawn her attention. “Like I said, I found it in a camp that will surly never be making something like this again,” he said.
Embre’s fists clenched and Malik knew where the necklace had come from. Timbre had been wearing one exactly like it the day he had saved Malik and the others. The other men in his party had the same necklace. Even Zimbre had one dangling from his beefy neck. Malik understood the importance now.
“You be careful with an item like that,” Embre said. Her voice had hardened to stone.
The old man looked down at his hand. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked.
Embre reached out and flicked the beads. “If not everyone from that camp is dead, then the warriors will surely be looking for those who raided their camps,” she let the words hang between them a moment, and then put a smirk on her face.
The old man looked her up and down. Then he looked to her captives.
“What would you part with for it?” he asked, taking a new approach on the deal.
“I will give you twenty coin and spare your life,” Embre said.
The merchant was not pleased, but he could not have thought to have gotten much more out of such a simple necklace. He looked again to Embre and finally let his eyes settle on Egg. His whole attitude plummeted, and he practically threw the chain into Embre’s outstretched palm. Embre used her other hand to throw two ten pieces onto the table.
“I hope you enjoy your day,” she said as she turned back to the beaten path.
The old merchant scooped the coins into his pocket, looking displeased but did not add a further comment.
Embre wrapped the beads around her neck, letting the white chain fall beneath her shirt. Malik watched for any sign of emotion, but he was not able to ascertain any. Embre was still in character and whether she was grieving inside, for all others to see she was still taking three prisoners to their justice.
Embre was going to get them through all of this. She was going to lead them to where they needed to go.
“You have done well, girl,” said a calculating voice.
Embre turned, ready to deal with another mercenary who had gotten brave, but what she saw was the unmistakable garb of a Tempre Warrior. Embre’s resolve broke and her face shaped into shock.
“Don’t worry, your death will be much quicker than theirs,” said the man.
Malik knew that this time there were no words or actions that would stop the horde from crashing down upon them.
Chapter 26
Minus
Embre did not drop the rope or run. Malik was proud of her for that. Malik tried to keep from charging for his bow. He noticed that Mollie too had tensed at the man’s approach.
“Hand over those you have in tow and maybe we can find some leniency somewhere within us,” the man’s smile was more of a sneer.
Malik could see the malicious intent and knew that the Tempre had no thought of letting Embre walk away. Malik thought about the note, but there was no way another Tempre would fall for such a scheme. If Sweet Tongue was in the city, then the man would know all about Malik and the others.
“Start by telling me your name,” Embre said, trying to sound confident and demanding.
The man stopped moving forward and let a real, genuine smile cross his lips. His teeth flashed behind that smile and made him look even more menacing.
“Oh,” he said, raising his eyes, “I do like the spunk of this one,” he said. The man eyed Embre as if she were a piece of prized meat. “I am called Minus,” the man said.
Malik knew very few of the Tempre by name. Mostly, he knew that they had killed his family. He knew that they had torched his village without remorse. He knew that they were cold, heartless villains. However, the few he did know by name he had heard from texts and rumors. Minus was one of those names. He had been rumored to be the second in command to a man named Malum. Malik did not know Minus’ real name, but the other Tempre called him Minus because he had the illusion of power, without the actuality of it. At least, that is what the rumors were. Malik doubted that Minus adopted the name for this reason. Malik figured he would never find out the real reason Minus called himself that.
“I would ask your name in return, but I do not believe you will be around long enough for me to have any use for it,” Minus said. “That does sadden me a bit, I am enjoying your banter,” he laughed.
Embre’s lips were quivering, but she was trying her best to keep the mask. “I have written decree by Sweet Tongue to pass the city gates,” Embre lied.
Minus did hesitate for a moment. Malik may have heard that Minus was the second in charge of the Tempre, but even he looked uncomfortable at the mention of Sweet Tongue. Malik could not blame him.
“I highly doubt that much,” Minus said, but did not sound so sure of himself.
Embre patted her front breast pocket. “Are you willing to risk it?” she asked.
Minus reached up and scratched just below his eye, he was concentrating hard on the pocket that Embre had just pointed to. He was evaluating his next step. Did Sweet Tongue really cause him that much fear? Finally, Minus let the smile creep back onto his face.
“Sweet Tongue will not be saddened by the lack of a fetcher,” he said, trying to convince himself and Embre with the wor
ds.
“Okay,” Embre said.
Malik watched Embre reach back for Mollie’s sword. Minus’ hand darted to his own twin daggers, with speed and competence. Embre was not capable of fighting. She had never learned to swing a sword or shoot a bow. This would fall onto Mollie and Malik. The sword came free from the loose tying and caught the reflection of the sun’s rays. Minus did not charge, but he did not back away at the size, either. Embre threw the sword into the air toward Mollie. Mollie had slipped the loose wrappings of the rope and caught the sword in both hands. Minus laughed aloud.
“Oh, marvelous!” he yelled.
Hundreds of bystanders came from all over to gather and watch the show. Malik had no doubt that if Minus were to fall into trouble; every sword here would fall in to help him. Each of these men and women wanted to be Tempre Warriors and to do so they would need to impress. It fueled their fires even more that they would likely never see the inside of the city gates and so they needed to impress Minus right here and now.
Mollie hefted the sword in front of her chest. She knew how to use the blade and Abrie had shown her new tricks. Minus was no longer watching Embre. Embre unhooked the bow from her shoulder and handed it to Malik. Malik was the one shaking now. He could not shoot this thing. His hands were not steady enough to even hold an arrow, let alone shoot it with any accuracy. He closed his eyes, but only saw the hesitance of past failures against his eyelids.
“I will even do the courtesy of letting you swing at me first, young lady.” Minus was goading her into position.
Malik wondered if Mollie would take him up on that offer. Her eyes blazed with the intensity of a hundred fires. Her knuckles were white from the forced grip on the sword’s hilt. Malik hoped she would loosen her fingers before she swung the sword; at least that much he remembered from Abrie’s teachings. Mollie’s sword began to glow, just as Malik had witnessed several times now.
Minus looked interested in the change of color, but he did not comment on it. He was still waiting to see if Mollie would charge him with reckless abandon. It did not matter if your sword was glowing if your insides were strewn out across the ground.